


Propose This

by wynnebat



Series: Propositions and Proposals [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Coming of Age, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mpreg, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Blaise thought about proposing to Colin and one time he was already too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Propose This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [satelliitti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/satelliitti/gifts).



> For the lovely satelliitti, because Proposition No. 2 couldn't have gotten a better reader. Your comments have been so very awesome <3 I hope you enjoy this fic! 
> 
> Misc notes:  
> \- I don't know if coming of age is quite the right tag, since the boys are already 17 and 18, but it's the closest thing I can think of "figuring out what the hell you want to do with your life". Because somehow this fic became as much about Blaise and Colin's lives as their relationship. Whoops.  
> \- I haven't actually seen most of the Harry Potter movies (shame on me!), so I've been imagining Blaise and Colin as [Ronald Epps](http://wynnebat.tumblr.com/post/107261864763/black-boys-ronald-epps-at-d1-models-how-i) and [this guy](http://wynnebat.tumblr.com/post/107265314903/how-i-imagine-colin-looks-in-propose-this) in my head. Mmmm, hotness.  
> \- Mythril is Tolkien's creation, but I wanted an interesting metal and have just watched the third Hobbit movie.  
> \- Gimmal rings are awesome, [here's a picture of one](http://wynnebat.tumblr.com/post/107920840623/source)!  
> \- The last part is based on [this tumblr post](http://wynnebat.tumblr.com/post/106192655308/viktor-cedric-potter-you-were-named-for-rons) by [constantquibbling](http://constantquibbling.tumblr.com/), because I couldn't resist.

_One_

 

It was the first summer since the end of the second wizarding war, and the British wizarding world had only been free of Voldemort's taint for one month. The time was one of celebration and mourning, of happiness and grief, and of hope that could not be extinguished by tears. A new age had come into being, one finally lacking the shadow or presence of a dark lord. Some welcomed it with parties, some with solitude, and some with an evening picnic on the banks of the Black Lake, resting after a long day of helping rebuild Hogwarts.

Blaise hid his smile in Colin's lightly curly hair despite the fact that no one could see them. Darkness had fallen around their enchanted picnic blanket, containers of food strewn on the edges of the mat, and no being except them was outside the castle (except the Giant Squid, and it would not give away Blaise's secrets).

His happiness with life, boyfriend, and his newly begun love life, was not much of a secret, especially when Colin said, "I can feel you smiling." His tone was not even close to reprimanding.

"Am not," Blaise replied.

Colin turned his head up, leaning even further into Blaise's side as they sat together on the blanket. Blaise couldn't even hide his smile in time. Instead, he leaned over and kissed his boyfriend of two weeks. The idea of always being welcome to kiss Colin was still new, after a year of knowing him only as his friend. He'd been hesitant at first, as they learned each other's preferences, whether the other enjoyed holding hands (Colin liked it, but Blaise wasn't overly fond of it), whether there was a ticklish spot the other shouldn't touch (sadly, none), or whether sometimes affection was too much (never, Colin promised, and Blaise had said the same).

"I can't even brood around you," Colin said as he leaned back, parting from their kiss. "I'm just too happy."

"I'm sure the ability will come back. You Gryffindors are fond of sulking, after all."

"And Slytherins aren't?"

"We don't look quite as adorable as you when we do it."

"No, only like angsty vampires," Colin replied with a chuckle. Blaise thought about tapping his wand against his teeth to see just how much Colin liked angsty vampires, but that would require either letting go of Colin or moving the arm he was leaning on to keep their comfortable position stable. For a man who'd been so careful and alert for the past year, he was startlingly vulnerable now, unable to easily grab his wand. It was hard to care, when all he saw was Colin.

"What were you brooding about?" he asked.

Colin shrugged. They watched the Giant Squid frolic in the Black Lake for a while, until Colin said, "I have no idea what to do with myself now. I hadn't really made plans for what would happen after the war. Other than maybe this."

"You could go back to school," Blaise said, not letting his voice give even a strand of hesitation, because this was Colin's choice, not his. Never mind the fact that if Colin went back to school, it would be two years of seeing each other only on summer and winter vacations and the occasional Hogsmeade visit. Blaise could've gone back to Hogwarts for one of those years, but with the death of his mother, there was too much to do. He couldn't spend a year fleeing from that responsibility, even if he fled into the arms of a much sweeter responsibility.

"Hogwarts is a bit restricting," Colin replied, smiling and leaning up to kiss Blaise's cheek.

Blaise had a feeling he'd betrayed himself, but couldn't quite mind.

"And I have my OWLs; they're not bad. You don't need NEWTs for everything, and most places are relaxing their standards because of how our education was disrupted."

"There's always independent study."

"For two years of material? Nah, that would cost too much. If not school, then the Aurors are recruiting anyone between seventeen and twenty-five who helped in the war effort and St. Mungo's entrance exams are coming up, but... I think that maybe, I've seen enough people die."

"You don't have to decide now. And you don't have to stick to what you thought before the war."

"I know, but I'll be seventeen next week. I should probably decide soon."

"Yes, please, do point out how you're not even legal."

"You love me anyway."

"I—yes."

Colin sounded so utterly satisfied as he said, "I love you too," and came closer for a long kiss.

It was a wonderful thought: that Colin might love him forever, that almost all of Blaise's long life could be characterized by the love of Colin Creevey. To think, that this was all he needed to be happy. That Colin was all he wanted. It was all so new, but he couldn't imagine it ever changing. Instead, he could imagine them, here, together, year after year. Dating, engaged, married…

Blaise had listened to Pansy's speeches about rings and proposing (with the obligatory doe-eyes aimed at an uncaring Draco's back) for years, thinking her silly for wanting to get married. Marriage was something he'd think about when he was older, he'd reasoned. There was no reason to think about it so early. And back then, there hadn't been. Colin hadn't entered Blaise's life and turned his heart inside out quite yet.

And now… Blaise was an adult and he knew with more certainty than he'd ever had about anything that he'd never fall in love again. Colin was it for him, and Blaise would forsake all others if they could stay together. Had this been what Pansy had felt for all those years? He couldn't imagine her wanting to be tied to another person so thoroughly if it wasn't this all-consuming, burning love. A love that encompassed both indulgence and fire, a love Blaise hadn't been able to appreciate when they hadn't been together, but could now let envelop him. He had nothing to fear, not when Colin loved him too.

For the first time, but nowhere near the last, Blaise imagined Colin wearing his ring. It was a better thought than anything Pansy had described.

But Blaise kept silent with those four simple words. He had no ring to offer Colin, and his mother would rise from the grave with eyes of red if he proposed improperly. It was best to wait.

"I'll be here, whatever you decide," Blaise said instead, and he meant every word.

 

_Two_

 

The next morning found Blaise standing in the front hall of Gringotts, surrounded by more witches and wizards than Blaise had thought could congregate in one place. Visiting the bank had been fraught with danger under the Dark Lord's reign, and a number of times it had even closed when negotiations between the dark, the light, and their money broke down. Now that they had the freedom to do so, it seemed the entire wizarding world had appeared to deposit, withdraw, or just check on their funds.

The lines of people stretched from the very entrance of the bank to the desks of goblins at the other end of the cavernous entrance hall. Blaise could hardly see the white marble building through the throng, and was barely able to step any further than the front doors.

 _This won't do,_ Blaise thought, and flagged down a young goblin walking quickly through the room. He had actual business in the bank. Perhaps it wasn't as important as the business of those needing money to live, but Blaise wasn't planning on wasting time by coming back again.

"Excuse me," he called. "Is there another line for thirteenth level customers?"

The goblin peered at Blaise with some disdain. Blaise had no idea how goblins and house-elves, two distantly related lines beings, could be so different in temperament. "You're too good to stand in line with the riffraff?"

"I'd like to get something done today instead of wait until when the lines clear sometime next year."

The goblin sighed, and glared some more. "Name."

"Blaise Zabini," Blaise replied, and handed the goblin his key. "I only need to enter my family vault."

"You're as presumptuous as your mother," the goblin said, but he led them through the hall, toward a small door on the side. A few people attempted to stop the goblin, but were cowed by a sharp word from the goblin who was _not going to be bothered by even more humans, move it_. Once they were out of the way, the goblin guided him into a cart.

"Thank you," Blaise replied. It seemed he was doing one thing right, after all. It had been so much easier when his mother had been there to handle their assets, deal with Gringotts, and expand their investments. He didn't have her silver tongue or her wizened confidence. But even though he didn't know much about the world, he knew it couldn't hurt to follow in his mother's footsteps.

Once through the harrowing ride and inside his vault (he'd only thrown up once this time, and counted it as quite the success), Blaise wasted no time in walking to the far wall of the vault. He passed newer money, secrets, and items, bypassing them all to get to the old. The Zabini vault wasn't a large one, far smaller than that of the Malfoys', and held the prestige of being on the lowest level of the bank due to the family's age rather than strength.

Being neutral, after all, did not yield his family riches beyond compare. But with the many generations' worth of gold available to him, more than he could prudently spend in a lifetime, Blaise was hardly a Weasley, though no Malfoy was he.

As he walked farther into the vault, the mottos and paintings changed. Centuries ago, it had been quite the neutral thing to kill muggles quickly instead of burning them like the darker wizards did or memory-wiping them like the lighter ones did, and the items around Blaise reflected the thought of the times.

He wondered if he would be allowed into the homes of his ancestors upon his death or if he would be locked out because of his choice in lovers. His mother would never deny him, but Blaise doubted the same would be the case with the rest of his family.

He would not regret his choices. They were his own, unlike the many things that had been decided for him upon his birth. But sometimes, he wondered what had ever possessed him to choose such a hard lot in life.

And then he looked toward Colin, and had no need to wonder.

In the farthest corner of the vault, where few thought to visit, was a short, stubby cabinet. Blaise pulled away the tapestry that blocked half of it, coughing when it gave rise to a decade's worth of dust. Not many of their clan had decided to choose one of the old rings. It wasn't mandatory; Blaise could've gone to a jeweler and bought a ring that hadn't even existed a month ago. But he liked the idea of giving Colin a piece of Blaise's family. He'd met the rest of the Creeveys a week ago, but Colin would never meet another Zabini. Apart from Blaise, there were none left in this world.

Blaise tapped his wand against the dark wood and watched as the cabinet began to slowly open. Its doors revealed a row of ten rings, wedding and engagement alike, along with a collection of jewelry. He bypassed the jewelry easily; Colin would never be interested in it. And of the ten rings, four were too feminine, two were too plain for an engagement, one reeked of dark magic, two were nice but not it, and one was just right.

Picking it up from its silken resting place, Blaise smiled as he remembered his mother doing the same thing many years ago. Giving into the impulse, he murmured, "Blood for the past, gold for the present, magic for the future," as his mother had when she'd first let him touch it. It had been their first visit to the bank, and Blaise hadn't wanted to look at rings when he could bring out the box of swords, but she'd convinced him to stay for a moment. She'd showed him two rings; Blaise hadn't realized that one had been for a man and another for a woman. He hadn't realized the true meaning for the phrase, either, having been much too young to think about the things that came with marriage.

It was a gimmal ring: three rings entwined, coming together to form one glittering diamond ring. Blaise ran a finger over the ring and it shifted into three parts in his hand. The center ring was one of gold, a diamond at its front. The other two were made of mythril. When joined together, they made a mosaic of silver and gold.

He'd thought it was beautiful, even at a young age, and knew it would look better on Colin's hand than in his own.

His mother's warning ringing in his ears, Blaise ran his thumb over the left-hand ring, jerking as he felt it dig into his skin. Blood streamed from his thumb onto the ring. A moment later, it disappeared inside. The right-hand ring took the opportunity to pull on Blaise's magic and bring it inside. All the while, the center ring glittered.

Blaise waited with baited breath and his efforts paid off; the tide of magic slowed until he could just barely feel its draw and his thumb healed.

It seemed he was worthy of the ring of his seventeenth century ancestor. Blaise was just glad that it was only he who needed to undergo the ritual; to Colin, it would be a simple ring.

Blood for the sins of the past. (Blaise didn't have many. That was probably for the best.) Gold for the present, a reassurance that he could support his lover. (Colin wouldn't want Blaise to support them both, not completely. But if Colin ever needed it, Blaise had room in his house and his vault.) Magic for the future. (It was this ring that Blaise was the least assured of; he and Colin hadn't even properly had sex yet, let alone talked about the future. But if Colin chose it, then the magic the ring pulled from Blaise would aid Colin through pregnancy, supporting their child and allowing it to get used to Blaise's magic as well as Colin's.)

It was too early, too fast, too huge for him to think about children right now. He had love to give them, but no time, no stability, no attention. There were far more important things than continuing his family line right now. Children could wait.

Even so, he imagined Colin holding a small boy's hand, a little girl peeking out from behind them. He thought about the way they could be a blend of his and Colin's features, and his heart ached for a future he'd barely thought about.

He'd known, intellectually, that one day he would sire a child or two to continue the Zabini name. He was the last of his clan, after all, and it was unavoidable lest he submit to centuries of heckling in the afterlife. But frankly, he'd always imagined a faceless, pretty woman by his side, doing all the work and himself just providing the sperm and throwing money at them.

Blaise would agree to not having children; he would agree to adoption; he would agree to a surrogate; he would agree to carrying a child (the thought wasn't appealing; he'd have to buy an entire new wardrobe, and maternity wizard's robes were horrifying); but the thought of Colin carrying a child half him and half Blaise and wholly perfect brought a smile to his face.

The only problem was that Blaise knew what he wanted for himself, not what Colin wanted for his future. He had no idea if Colin wanted to get married or to have children. Maybe Colin wouldn't even like the ring.

It was too early, Blaise decided with a sigh. He couldn't propose, not yet, not while they still had so many things to talk about.

He'd thought about proposing, back there on the Hogwarts lawn, but now that he held the ring in his hand, he knew it was too early. They still had time. They still needed time.

Blaise slipped the ring into an inner pocket in his robes and left the vault. Although he was uncertain about the future, his spirits were high, because he knew that one day, they would figure it out. For now, they had each other.

 

_Three_

 

By the time Blaise joined Colin in Fortescue's rebuilt ice cream parlor, thoughts of proposals were far from the forefront of his mind.

"We can always just skip this part," Blaise said after greeting his boyfriend. The ring was a comforting presence in his pocket, a reminder of a hopeful future. He was going to need that reminder.

"We can," Colin agreed.

Blaise knew Colin wouldn't say a word if he called the visit off. He almost took the out. It would've been so easy to just say, "Let's visit the bookstore instead." Colin would've smiled, taken his hand, and bought another copy of one of Lockhart's terrible books. ("They're great adventure stories! Despite, well, everything.") That only meant Blaise should go, if only for the sake of Colin's coin pouch and Blaise's sanity.

"We can't," Blaise replied, sighing. Colin had already finished his ice-cream cone, but Blaise dropped his own into the trash can, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

He wanted to do this.

He didn't want to do this.

Mainly, he just wanted to return to the Zabini manor become a misanthropic hermit. When he shared this thought with Colin, his boyfriend just laughed and said, "We'd drive each other crazy if we had to spend all the hours of the day together."

And that was why they soon appeared in the apparition hall of the ministry of magic, really. Blaise had a precious few people in his life. He could count on one hand the number of friends he had. Now he had no family, friends (and Colin, but just as Blaise couldn't become a hermit, he couldn't rely on Colin for all the human interaction he needed) were all he had. _Friends who I turned against in the final battle_.

He hadn't aimed a single curse at his yearmates, he consoled himself as they walked hand in hand through the white stone halls of the ministry. That had to count for something. By the time they reached the ministry holding cells, he was even almost optimistic about his chances of getting back his former friends.

There was no line into this wing of the ministry; few wished to be seen visiting the hundred prisoners gathered there. The entrance room consisted of a comfortable waiting area and a desk with an Auror Blaise vaguely recognized sitting behind it.

"I could go with you," Colin told him as they arrived inside.

"Thank you," Blaise said, kissing his cheek. "But I need to go alone." For better or for worse, these were his friends. He needed to see if there was yet something salvageable in a their friendships (a friendship of a decade on and off when it came to Draco, turned off when they bickered or were stupidly, childishly prideful, turned on when one of them returned with his chin held high and an awkward apology on his lips; an acquaintanceship of seven years with Greg, wherein he'd eventually realized Draco's lackey had a personality behind the bulk; a rivalry turned friendship turned rivalry with Theo).

Their last year, none of them had been able to be friends. There had been too much tension, too much suspicion. Blaise couldn't wish it had been different, for this same situation had pushed him toward Colin, but it had been almost unbearably lonely in Slytherin.

After turning in his wand at the desk and leaving his boyfriend in the waiting area, already chatting with the guard, Blaise walked down the long hallway behind the desk. There were no visible cells; simply plaques with names every couple of meters apart on both walls. It was almost hypnotizing, to walk in a sterile, pale, brightly lit hallway, where everything looked exactly the same.

Draco Malfoy, read the tenth plaque on the left. Gregory Goyle's was twenty-sixth. Theodore Nott's was the last one. Blaise had lost count. _Theo first,_ Blaise decided, stopping across from his plaque. He was a nearly hopeless cause anyway. Taking a deep breath, Blaise walked through the solid wall, shivering as he felt a dementor-like chill.

Potter had campaigned to destroy the dementor guards of Azkaban, but the issue had been stalled in the Wizengamot for weeks. For now, all the new prisoners stayed in the ministry, while the dementors guarded the older prisoners that were already inside Azkaban. But the walls must've had some sort of dementor-like property, because Blaise found Theo sitting atop his bed, swaddled completely in blankets with only his pale face peeking out.

"Hello, Theo," Blaise said when Theo didn't immediately cry out for him to leave. "Sorry for barging in."

"Zabini. Come to gloat?" Theo's voice was hoarse, young. He didn't look like the asshole Blaise had gotten to know.

"No. I— I wanted to see if you might want to go for a drink later. When you're out." Almost all of the younger Death Eaters or sympathizers would be released on house arrest soon, and Blaise had chosen to go now instead of sending a letter that could be easily ignored. _I sound like an idiot,_ he still thought, and it looked like Theo agreed.

"I don't drink with fucking turncoats."

"Yeah, well, I don't drink with people who look like they haven't showered for days. You have a bathroom in here. Use it."

"How dare you come in here to order me around? Fuck you, and the rest of you traitors, and that mudblood boyfriend of yours—"

A couple of slurs from both sides later, Blaise walked back through the wall. He was very explicitly down one friend. And yet, he felt lighter walking out of the cell than he had walking through it. At least now, he knew for sure.

Within minutes, he was inside another cell, where its occupant was eating noisily.

"At least they're feeding you alright," Blaise remarked.

Greg snorted, but pushed out a chair for Blaise to sit on at the small table. "It could be worse. I managed to convince them that I needed four meals a day. I have health issues, you see. Vince and I..."

"Of course," Blaise agreed, remembering Greg's "health issues" quite well from Hogwarts. It was these same health issues that got him and Vince the way into the kitchens, after they'd spent a month convincing Madam Pomfrey that they were being starved. He had no idea how the two of them weren't morbidly obese already.

Or one of them, now that Vince was gone.

Blaise hadn't liked him. Vince had been vicious and cruel and dumb and _dark_ , a ball of self-pitying rage. He hadn't liked needing Draco's protection and help, but there had been little else for him to do. His family wasn't rich or powerful. He couldn't have navigated Slytherin without ending up on the bottom rung without Draco.

But that didn't matter, because he'd been Greg's best friend since they were infants, close enough to cause a stream of tears to roll down Greg's face and into his stew at the mere mention of Vince.

"Greg, don't," Blaise began.

Greg pushed the plate away. "What am I supposed to do now?" His shoulders shook.

 _What are any of us supposed to do now?_ Blaise thought. He wanted to stay still, or better yet, leave, but Colin had infected him with enough kindness to push his chair closer to Greg and place a hand over his shoulder as he cried. "You're going to be fine," Blaise said, and mirrored Greg when the man wrapped his arms around him in a crushing hug.

It was an hour later that he left the cell, with the promise that he would visit again next week. It was a promise that he would fulfill, a promise that made Blaise's future seem so much brighter. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed having people at his back. Colin was amazing and Blaise would be a happy man if he only had him in his life—but there were times when one needed friends. If only to have a best man at a wedding.

But first, there was one last former—hopefully future—friend.

It didn't feel right to enter Draco's room without knocking (they'd had a month-long argument about it when they were kids), but there wasn't a way around it. Blaise entered his cell.

Like the others, Draco's neck, wrists, and ankles were cuffed so that he wouldn't be able to do violence, magic, or transformation. _How low the Malfoys have fallen._ He couldn't resist the thought, not when throughout almost all of their friendship, Draco's status had been so much higher than his. Like Greg, he sat at the small table, though in his hands was a book that Greg would never pick up on his own: a seventh year Herbology textbook.

"How've you been?" Draco asked as he looked up.

"Probably better than you," Blaise replied, unable to help himself.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You mean you haven't been befallen by crushing boredom?"

"I'm surprised you haven't taken up interior decorating to cure it." There had been that one time, when they were eight… Draco's cell was disturbingly plain by comparison to both their dorm and the Malfoy manor.

"I'm just glad I'm not in Azkaban."

That sobered Blaise up pretty quickly. It was easy to forget that, although Draco looked alright, he was in jail and not on a holiday somewhere.

"But enough of that. I heard you dissolved all the business dealings your mother had with my father."

Blaise waited a moment, eyeing Draco with reproach.

"My condolences on her passing," Draco finally said, looking away. "I really did like her."

"I liked your dad, too," Blaise told him. Lucius had never been particularly kind, but he'd been fair and protective and a stable male presence throughout Blaise's mother's revolving stream of husbands. "But he's not going to be able to be much of a businessman from inside Azkaban. I heard he got five years."

"With the possibility of parole," Draco corrected, but he didn't look hopeful.

"You can have those contracts when you get out of here."

Draco stared at him in shock. "Why would you still have any loyalty to me?"

Blaise shrugged. "We were friends at one point, weren't we?"

"Not while I was on the run. Not our last year at Hogwarts either."

"But before… You were my best friend. You still are, if you want to be."

Draco shook his head, but he was smiling. "What the hell happened to you? The Blaise Zabini I knew wouldn't give a shit about me if I couldn't pull my own weight."

"I… I guess I learned some things about myself."

After a long moment, Draco nodded. "I'll take you up on that offer. Don't think I won't."

"You'd better."

"I'll be under house arrest starting next week," Draco called as Blaise was leaving. "You may visit me if you wish."

"I'll owl you," Blaise replied, already thinking of when he'd have time to visit.

He had to hide his smile as he walked down the long hallway; it was unseemly, to be so happy in a prison hallway. But the visit had gone so much better than he'd thought it would. He'd thought that he'd come out with no friends in the world; now, he knew he had at least two. With this set, Blaise only had Daphne and Pansy to visit. (And Switzerland, for dwarvish chocolates. And an expensive flower shop. Pansy and Daphne hadn't fought in the battle; they wouldn't care as much about his alliances. But they would care about the many secrets Blaise had kept. If he could assuage them with chocolate and flowers, he'd buy a hippogriff's load of them.)

When he returned to the waiting room, he found that Colin had inexplicably attracted a trio of Gryffindors. _The_ trio, Blaise thought with a sigh, and sat down onto one of the chairs, not wanting to get in the middle of it all. Granger and Weasley were arguing loudly about something, while Potter and Colin were talking quietly, heads bent towards each other.

It wasn't a private conversation, Blaise told himself. He didn't have any reason to be jealous over Colin talking to an old love.

None at all.

It was absurd, this uncomfortable feeling in his chest, this abrupt roar in his ears that left him weak.

It wasn't that Blaise felt insecure in their relationship. He'd never betrayed Colin, and Colin had never found cause to blame him. (For large things, not minor arguments or squabbles. But Colin was never so silly as to hate him for forgetting to buy toad's tongues when he'd needed to go to the apothecary, or for forgetting a date of theirs one memorable time.) But Blaise knew there was something special about a first love. Enough love songs had been written about it for Blaise to have something of a clue.  

 _You make me so angry, so jealous,_ Blaise thought, but would never say, because it was unnecessarily cruel. And he would never let himself be cruel to Colin. If there was one person he couldn't be cruel to, it was Colin. Not out of selflessness, but out of a twisted selfishness: if he wasn't cruel to Colin, Colin would stay. Colin would stay, and Blaise would have him forever, have his ridiculous books, his morality, his smile, his everything.

He had the sudden wish to just propose to Colin, whether they were ready or not, just to be able to keep him. But it was a madness Blaise refused to succumb to; he couldn't use such a lovely thing for such an ugly cause. He could never chain Colin in.

And then Weasley leaned over and said something to Colin, and Colin looked backward, saw Blaise, and grinned. He looked at him like Blaise was the only person in the world, and so Blaise silently called himself an idiot and smiled back.

"All done?" Colin asked as he walked across the room.

"Yes. Thanks for coming with me. You didn't have to. It must've been pretty boring."

"I wanted to. Besides, I ran into Harry and the others." As he said the words, Colin waved them over, and the group said their hellos.

Thankfully, the trio was too busy to stay and chat for long. Blaise found out that Potter had arrived for a Wizengamot meeting that had been suspiciously delayed ("Pretentious old coots, all of them," Potter muttered, the Man Who Conquered having been temporarily bested.), Granger now found herself working in the legal department ("House-elves' rights?" "No, muggleborns'."), and Weasley was visiting the patent office on behalf of his brother's shop ("Not my own invention, but I helped some! Alright, it was mostly with stirring. But I have mad stirring skills. Snape would've been so proud.). Soon, the two of them were able to leave Colin's promises to owl the group later.

"Everyone's so different now that we're out of school," Colin remarked as they walked toward the apparition area.

"You are, too," Blaise told him.

"I am, aren't I?" Colin said, smiling lightly. As they neared the fountain, he took Blaise's hand in his and stopped them. "I need to ask you something. It's… big."

"Go on," Blaise said.

"You know how I spent most of last year helping Lee smuggle muggleborns and sympathizers out of Britain?"

"I'm sure you're aware of my pride in you for it, too."

Colin took a deep breath. "Harry was telling me about how he's creating a new group, a bit like the Order. One meant for peacetime, not war, to help fix the problems in the wizarding world. I think I'm going to join it."

"But that's not the big thing, is it?"

"No. He also talked about how many of the people we smuggled out are still either abroad or living in a temporary settlement up north. Most of their homes were destroyed in Death Eater raids, and they either lost their money in the war or didn't have much in their first place. I want to go there and see what I can do to help. I still have contacts through the old network. I can do _something_ , even if it's just cutting trees for firewood or making simple potions."

"If you go now, you won't be able to return to Hogwarts. You'll be too old next year."

"I know. But… I want to do this, no matter the cost. I can't just sit still at Hogwarts and ignore everything that's happened in the last year."

"You don't need my permission."

"I don't want it. Or my parents'. I just want you to understand. Our relationship is so new… And if I go, I won't have as much time to be with you."

"I understand," Blaise said, and curled his hands around Colin's. "I don't know how you ended up with me. You're so damn brave, so caring. But if we survived the war, then our relationship can survive this. I need to ask you something, too," Blaise said before the conversation ended and they both would have to leave for their separate homes: Colin back to his parents' house and Blaise back to an empty manor. "I'm not asking you the question. It's too early, you're leaving, the world is still so uncertain. But… someday, when things are better, when we're older, would you want to marry me?"

"Yes. Oh, God, of course I would. Not now. But. Yes." Colin hugged him, unaware of being so close to the ring in Blaise's pocket.

And later, when Blaise asked about children, his answer was exactly the same.

 

_Four_

 

"I hate Potter," Blaise muttered for the thousandth time.

"Shhh," muttered an older woman in the seat beside him. "You mustn't disrespect Elder Gamp as he speaks!"

In response, Blaise propped up his feet on the empty chair in front of him. A few people spluttered in shock around him, but no one bothered him again.

He really did hate Potter. He hadn't been this annoyed in ages. The purple felt seat he sat in was lumpy and hard, the hastily transfigured robes he'd made were scratchy and slightly off-color (deliberately, because although Blaise could force many colors to suit him, plum was not on that list), and the more permanent members were exactly as stuffy as Potter had described.

The things he had to do for Potter were ridiculous. Or rather, for Potter's fledgeling political group, Bridge. It was even a pretentious name, with its symbolism all figured out and plastered on every place the group could advertise. A bridge between purebloods and muggleborns, old and young, dark and light. Blaise was perfectly alright with Potter and Granger's (it had to be mostly Granger's) brainchild when he wasn't being guilted into helping out, but right now, he would've liked to burn every bridge he came to.

Usually, Ernie Macmillan did the duty of attending each meeting of the wizarding world's lawmaking body and taking note of any underhanded, anti-muggle or muggleborn bills or rhetoric. The Wizengamot only allowed note-taking in criminal trials; in all others, they were closed to both visitors and official stenographers. However, Macmillan had fallen ill, and Potter had approached one of the few people he knew who was able to sit on the upper courts. And so, here he was, guilted into doing something that would help Potter's (and Colin's) cause.

It was impossible for another of Potter's group to simply join the court, and if a member couldn't make it, only a close blood relative could fill in. In order to join the Wizengamot as a new line, one had to: be at least thirty years old, be under one hundred years old, be a prominent member of society, have the approval of ten seated Wizengamot members and the current minister of magic, defeat a dark creature from an approved list, prove one's prowess with a wand, and be convicted of no crimes. Just the first requirement ruled out all of Bridge. Of the two who had seats, Macmillan and Potter, Macmillan was chronically ill and Potter was chronically busy. At the moment, Potter was attending criminal trials of those who'd fought in the final battle, arguing for or against peoples' imprisonments. And since Potter would not accept members he didn't fully (or at least mostly) trust into the group, he couldn't recruit a candidate that would fit the requirements.

Blaise's own seat had passed to him through the Zabini line, though neither of his parents had ever used it. Blaise's mother had thought politics were unbearably dull and his father had preferred backroom deals to open debate.

He was about to finish doodling a caricature of the speaking elder when something caught his ear. Blaise let him talk for a few more moments, noting the approval on some of the members' faces, and then sent blue sparks from his wand. It was the symbol of a Wizengamot member's wish to speak, and could not be ignored.

Elder Gamp faced him with a displeased frown. "Yes, Elder…"

"Zabini."

"Elder Zabini. Please, do speak your mind."

"This bill you're sponsoring, the one that requires stricter methods of ministry recruitment, could you tell me about its effect on muggleborns, many of whom have lost their identification papers and exam scores in the war?" And had their documentation burned by Umbridge and her people, Blaise didn't say, because Umbridge had once been a valued member of this same court.

"It will lead to a more ordered society, which will help muggleborns and purebloods alike. Our society needs to rebuild itself, Elder Zabini, and this bill is just one of many that will give our people something to lean on in these trying times."

 _No, it won't,_ Blaise thought, and argued for as long as he could. One could question for as long as they were able to keep their wand shooting sparks; members that opposed his line of questioning would send magic to quench the sparks, while ones who approved would add their magic to his, keeping the blue light steady. Eventually, Blaise's wand twitched in his hand, shooting one last, faint spark.

When the vote came, the bill Blaise had argued against still passed, though by a very scant margin of votes. Blaise consoled himself with the fact that even if it had been Macmillan here instead of him, the outcome would've been the same. As far as Potter had assured him, Macmillan rarely spoke before the Wizengamot. He was using his father's seat and his father could easily take it away if Macmillan said anything too radical.

Blaise didn't have the same issue. He could attend every session of this council. He could argue with every misguided or bigoted fool who had a seat. He could even sway the minds of people willing to be swayed. He was even rather looking forward to it.

 _Oh, Merlin. I truly am going light._ First fighting for the light side in the final battle, now arguing for their cause in the Wizengamot.

But for what it was worth (not much, to his dark allies), Blaise believed in the words he'd said. He wasn't doing this for Colin, not anymore. Oh, the things he was arguing for would benefit muggleborns in general, and Colin's approval would be good to see later, but he'd enjoyed this so much more than he'd thought he would. It was for himself that he decided to attend the next session. (And maybe a bit for a couple grumbling, glaring representatives.) This was building and destroying without casting spells or having to work with his hands; this was a free ticket into the minds of his elders and the world at large; this was _fun_. (Not the waiting part, but the debate itself. Blaise hadn't gone that much around the bend.)

He returned home still high off of a day spent arguing and covertly insulting people and found Potter's head already in his floo.

"How'd it go?" Potter asked.

"It was alright," Blaise told him, and recounted the events of the day. He voiced the concerns he had about this new law and what he thought people should do about it, an approximate number of the people who'd agreed and disagreed with him, an overview of the other (largely boring) topics, and a few whines about having to do it all in the first place.

"You're really good at this," Potter said, sounding surprised. "Much better than Ernie."

"It's because I have more class," Blaise drawled. Macmillan was meddling, interfering, and a _Hufflepuff_.

Potter laughed. "You sound like Draco."

"Draco?"

"You know, the guy you shared a dorm with for six years."

"I just wasn't aware the two of you were so familiar." Familiar enough to be on first name terms when Blaise had never heard either of them say the other's first name.

"We're not," Potter quickly said. Too quickly, as Blaise remembered the day Potter had been in the area of the ministry cells, ten floors from where he should've been. "At all."

"Except for those times you two have cursed each other," Blaise replied. _And stalked one another._

"That's all water under the bridge," Potter said, and quickly changed the topic back to the Wizengamot session.

They ended up talking for almost an hour. Blaise came away from the conversation with the startling realization that Potter wasn't the blundering idiot he'd thought he was; he was actually rather charismatic, in his own messy-haired, too caring way. Perhaps Bridge had a chance of working out after all. That charisma had to be the reason Potter left with Blaise's agreement of joining Bridge.

Colin was the first person Blaise wanted to tell—and the only, since Blaise doubted his Slytherin friends would be as elated by the news—but he was kilometers away at the temporary settlement.

In the past month that Colin had lived there, Blaise had seen him twice. They had gone on exactly one date. Blaise knew it was wrong of him to be irked at how little he'd seen his boyfriend, because Colin was truly doing good. In his letters, he'd talked about how he'd rebuilt four houses, contracted twenty more to be built from the ground up, managed to get flu potions at a discount rate, and created six magical tents. But he was far away while Blaise was stuck here, and this wasn't the future he'd fought in the final battle to get.

But maybe, just like with his newfound interest in politics, he needed to find the future he wanted for himself instead of just doing what he'd always thought he'd do. He sat on his thoughts for a while before finally muttering, "Screw it."

With a burst of energy, he apparated upstairs and began throwing clothes into a large bag with an even larger extension charm. Sixteen pairs of good robes, five less good ones, toiletries, books… He considered throwing one of his elves in as well, then remembered Colin's status as a member of SPEW. Instead, he instructed them to take care of the house and apparate to him if they encountered any problems they couldn't handle.

(At some point, Blaise knew they would have to address the thorny issue of Colin not believing in house-elf slavery and Blaise owning four of them. To be very technical, Blaise didn't believe in slavery, either; he believed that house-elves had a place like all the other creatures of the world, and that place was cleaning his house and polishing his shoes. It wasn't slavery if they willingly did it. And besides, it wasn't like Blaise could entrust his manor to human servants.

But that time would be later. Much, much later if Blaise had his way.)

When he'd packed all his bag could carry, Blaise apparated to the edges of the temporary settlement's wards. It was up north somewhere, on land donated by some rich, sympathetic witch.

The camp resembled the grounds of the Quidditch World Cup Blaise had attended the summer before fourth year: a multitude of disillusioned tents across a wide campground and a number of people always milling around. But unlike the world cup, this wasn't a place of friendly ribbing or joyous sports competitions, and almost everyone was British. Most knew each other, too; whole magical villages had been demolished for not following the Dark Lord's orders, while others had gone on the run and found their homes gone when they returned.

As Blaise walked toward Colin's tent, he saw a familiar face coming out of a volunteer's tent.

"Draco? What are you doing here?" The last he'd seen of him, Draco had been lounging on a sofa with a glass of firewhiskey in the Malfoy manor, appreciating being home once again. Draco was the last person Blaise would've expected to see roughing it up. But then, Blaise was surprised to find himself here, too.

"Potter," Draco grumbled. "He suggested this was better than staying at home."

"But you like your home. He didn't force you into this, did he?"

"No, nothing like that. He simply suggested that it would look far better if I spent my probation period helping others instead of just myself. I thought about it and agreed. Somehow, he convinced the Aurors to go along with it. I even have my wand back."

"Well, as long as you're happy," Blaise said, bemused. First Potter was too familiar with Draco, now Draco was willingly spending time helping people. What was the world coming to?

(Later, when he saw Draco and Potter interact, Blaise was hard-pressed not to smirk. Because there was another reason Draco was here, even if Draco tried to hide it. The way he blushed when Potter visited the camp, the way he stared at his bum, the way he always seemed to know where Potter was, all indicated one thing.

Blaise would've thought the whole thing was hopeless, since Potter was famously taken, if not for the way Potter sometimes glanced back when he thought no one was looking. But overall, he was too busy spending his time at the ministry, his office at the manor, and with Colin to notice much.)

Blaise left Draco to his duties and continued on, passing fifteen more tents until he reached Colin's. Although the tent was only a meter wide in both directions, a small tent dwarfed by the others nearby, there was no mistaking it. What had been a dark orange exterior was covered in waterproof photographs. A few caught Blaise's eye: Colin and volunteers lugging food and water to the dining tent, a group of children having a mud fight, a group photo of all the inhabitants of this land. Blaise could only barely make out Colin in that photo, and only noticed Draco by his bright blond hair.

When his knock on the front tent flap brought no one, Blaise stepped inside, the tent's wards allowing him through. The wards were rudimentary, nothing like the ones Blaise's home had, and he made a mental note to never leave any important paperwork here. If Colin allowed him to move in, anyway. And it was a big if. Blaise would understand if Colin needed the privacy; after all, the tent only had four rooms: a bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, and an extra room.

The extra room, the size of a very tiny bedroom, had been an office under the previous owner of the tent; now, it was the room Colin spent most of his free time in.

Blaise leaned against the doorway to Colin's darkroom. The door was open, but none of the magical darkness spilled out. From Blaise's angle, he could see Colin's light brown hair and pale skin as his boyfriend was bent over a developing photograph.

"One minute!" Colin called out, not looking up from his task.

"Would you like some help?" Blaise asked. He looked around the room, half wanting to enter, but mostly not wanting to disturb anything. He knew nothing about how magical photographs were developed; whenever Colin spoke about the subject, his terms flew over Blaise's head.

"Oh, it's you!" Colin cried. "I thought you were just Dennis. He's been coming by nearly every day. Mum thinks I'm getting lonely or something, so she keeps sending him with food."

"I don't think you can be lonely with a couple hundred people around."

"That's what I told her, but she keeps despairing over how I don't even have a floo for her to talk to me through. I do have a perfectly good owl." Finally, he brought the picture up from the mixture in the cauldron. The green goo that covered his hands and the picture eventually slid off the photograph. "How does it look?"

"Perfect," Blaise said as he walked closer, seeing a photo cat chasing a butterfly through a portion of the camp.

Colin smiled at him. "I'd cover you in goo if I hugged you, but you should know that I really want to right now."

"I could kiss you, instead," Blaise replied, and leaned over for a press of lips that was more perfect than any picture (not that he'd ever tell Colin that). He'd missed this, so much.

Colin's thoughts must've echoed his, because he said, "I've missed you," as he pulled away.

"I've—" Blaise stumbled over the words, finding it hard to say the words. They seemed too simple for the feelings that had encompassed his mind while Colin was gone. "—missed you too."

"You don't sound very sure," Colin said, biting his lip.

"No, I have. It's just that…" Merlin, what was he doing? He should've waited, should've asked Colin if it was alright first instead of bringing a bag over first. What if Colin thought he was being rude, or pushy, or egotistical? "I really have missed you," he said, voice softening by the end. "And I thought… Maybe there's a different way to do this."

Colin frowned. "Are— are you suggesting you want to take a break?"

He looked so hurt that Blaise almost whipped out the ring from his pocket to show how utterly serious Blaise was about not ending this relationship. But that would've complicated things more, so he just said, "No! No, definitely not. I just… Wanted to know if you'd be interested in living together. Here."

Slowly, Colin's lips worked their way into a smile. "Why Blaise, are you asking to move in with me?"

"I'll pay half the rent," Blaise quipped.

"I only accept it in the form of camera film," Colin replied.

"Agreed."

"Agreed," Colin repeated, and later Blaise would deny it, but they were grinning like loons.

 

_Five_

 

Blaise woke up to the sound of the click of a beak on glass and groaned loudly. The sound didn't deter the owl, which kept up its rhythmic tap tap tap until he fumbled for his wand. With a moan of, " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," the latch of the window shot up, allowing the owl to make its way into the bedroom.

"Money's on the table," Blaise called out, "...you money-grubbing, incompetent thief. Seriously, there's an early riser right downstairs who would've been happy to let you in. I thought the Daily Prophet's price increase was bad enough, but this…"

The owl gave a loud hoot as it left with three knuts and one less newspaper bogging it down in its flight. Blaise sighed loudly, but sleep seemed to have left him.

He trudged out of bed, waving his wand at some shoes and an over-robe, and ducked as they almost hit him on the head. He blamed the owl. One trip to the bathroom later (after which there would be no proof of how badly he'd managed to misaim the toothpaste spell), he walked down an elaborate, circling set of stairs that seemed to want him to collapse on his way down.

He passed three house-elves chasing a kneazle, Colin with a spatula chasing after all of them, and a levitating elm tree without blinking or bothering to register anything in his mind.

The smell of sweet, heavenly coffee beckoned him inside the kitchen, where he sat at the kitchen table, drinking and wondering if he should bother with the paper. He knew quite well what would be inside it and reading was quite a lot of work this early in the morning.

He was still idly thinking about coffee, the paper, and the universe, when Colin triumphantly entered the manor kitchen.

(Before, when it had only been Blaise living here, he'd only vaguely been aware of the fact that the manor had a kitchen. He'd only stepped foot in it a handful of times; it had always been the house-elves domain. Colin had been quite happy to show him the joys of doing things yourself—especially when it involved an automatic coffeemaker that Blaise could set to very, very precise settings. There was a simple pleasure in always knowing your coffee would be done right, instead of being more or less drinkable when done prepared by house-elves who couldn't appreciate the drink.)

"I got it back," Colin declared, holding up a delicate chain with a miniature camera hanging from it. Of course, with how many times it had been stolen by an ambitious kneazle and hadn't broken, it only seemed very delicate. "Damn that cat, honestly."

"You could've _accio_ 'dit," Blaise offered.

"I'm not sure how safe it is to summon a cat," Colin replied.

"Surely he isn't that silly. He'd probably let go."

Colin raised an eyebrow and they shared a baleful expression. In the background, a certain cat yowled as tried to eat an unpleasant-tasting plant for the tenth time.

"The apple fell very far from the tree," Colin said with a sigh. The rest of Crookshanks' children had inherited their father's keen mind, but Tank (short for Cantankerous, which was Blaise's first thought when he saw the grumpy, yowling kitten; Colin's had simply been, _what a precious thing_ ) only enjoyed his propensity for mischief. But as Tank returned to the kitchen and clawed his way into Colin's arms, Colin could only smile as he rested his face in the cat's soft, lion-like mane.

Blaise grabbed one of the many cameras in the house from the table and snapped a picture. Then another as both looked over at him, identical sweet expressions on their faces.

"Do you want a cup?"

"I already had some. I'll have the newspaper, though," Colin replied, and accepted it from Blaise.

He smiled at the front page and skipped it, going to the second page. With the paper in spread in the air in front of him, Blaise finally glanced at its words.

 

EVERY WIZARD'S HOME, the Three Year Anniversary of the Closing of the Last Temporary Settlement, read the headline.

The Chosen Ones: Bridge Group through the Years, page 2

Registration Law (Finally!) Repealed, by Lavender Brown, page 3

Similarities between Bridge and the Death Eaters: Is our boy wonder going dark? An essay by Rita Skeeter, page 5

 

The headline's article mentioned both of them by name, along with Draco and Potter. Blaise glanced over it to make sure it didn't have anything too slanderous (he'd gotten a high tolerance for the Daily Prophet's ridiculous stories over the years), and took pride in every mention of Colin's name. It had been a momentous achievement; but mostly for Colin, who'd been the one to actually help. Blaise had only donated money and spent many rainy nights in a tent out in the middle of nowhere.

"They managed to spell my name wrong," he complained as Colin finished reading the paper.

"Do you want me to send a howler?"

"No, I think I quite like it. Blaise Zamboni—sounds handsome."

"You're already too handsome," Colin replied, and leaned over for a long, sleepy kiss. "You'll have to wake up, though, because we're due at Shell Cottage in an hour to help set up."

"We could always be late. Potter never asks why we're late."

"He never asks because you were only too happy to tell him that one time."

"Well, he did ask…"

Later, after a few more cups of coffee and a change of clothes, they apparated to Shell Cottage. The cottage was already packed with early arrivers and helpers, and some spilled out into the backyard where a canopy would be set up.

Shell Cottage wasn't a large home—it wasn't even a proper house, not at its size and was not inhabited except for parties and vacations—but it was the easiest location for Bridge to host a party. The Burrow looked like it might fall over if more than its usual number of Weasleys visited it, while the others' homes were either flats or their owners weren't interested in hosting all forty-three members of Bridge, twenty former Order members, various children, and many spouses, friends, and relatives.

Colin tapped the miniature camera on his necklace with his wand, and it grew into a full-sized one in his hands. "I'll go find Harry, see if he needs any help with anything."

"I'll make sure no one bungles the canopy up too badly. Find me at some point," Blaise replied. It was a needless thing to say. They had attended various Bridge meetings, parties, and galas over the years, enough to develop a rhythm between them.

"I'll even save you some lemon cake squares," Colin said, and with a shutter of his camera, he was off.

Eventually, the canopy was set up, food was brought out, and everyone who was meant to be there (plus a few who weren't, but it wasn't like this was an official meeting) was. Blaise found himself seated on a bench between Draco and Daphne, with a couple friendly allies from the Wizengamot across from them.

Potter gave an inspirational speech about how much Bridge had been able to accomplish throughout the year, and a dire warning about the state of the world and the environment and something about magical creatures—Blaise had tuned him out after a bit. He received at least one of Potter's speeches a week; if he truly needed to know something, Potter would be only too happy to track him down to talk about it. (Blaise wouldn't admit it to anyone but Colin, but after all this time, he didn't mind. Potter wasn't really that bad.)

As they drew almost three hours into the rowdy lunch (a lunch that would flow into dinner as the party lasted long into the night), people began to dance and music began to play. Draco challenged him to a drinking contest and Pansy began testing the waters around them for a new victim (or hook-up; the words were interchangeable when it came to Pansy). Blaise ignored both of them in favor of finding Colin, who hadn't appeared as planned. Blaise had seen him around (and they'd been able to sneak off for a spot of snogging to relive their teenage years), but the two hadn't managed to completely reunite.

He wasn't under the canopy, that much Blaise knew for certain; he was usually very good about being able to find Colin when he was nearby. So Blaise continued on into the cottage, snatching a slice of pie on the way.

He heard voices coming from the hallway leading toward the cellar, and almost entered it when Potter said, "I just don't know what to do."

His voice sounded wrecked, and Blaise inched back as he realized this wasn't a conversation he wanted to be involved in. Potter only got that emotional about his love life, and Blaise had tried his best to avoid the blow-out that had been the Potter-Weasley split.

"You'll figure it out," came Colin's voice.

"I wish I'd noticed you instead of her," Potter said in one long breath. "I wish… I spent so many years with Ginny, thinking that one day it would be perfect, but it never was."

"Oh, Harry," Colin murmured, and Blaise's heart stood on the verge of breaking. He wanted to come into the room and stop the conversation from progressing, to stop Colin from making a choice, any choice, but his feet were glued to the floor as if cursed. "Four years ago, I would've given everything I had to hear you say that."

There was a shuffling sound, and Blaise felt like there was a stone in his throat. He dragged his feet closer, into the hallway, but neither of the men noticed his entrance.

"But now, I wish I hadn't noticed you so much," Colin finished. "I wish I'd looked around and seen the people around you. Seen that there was someone out there who could love with such as strength I can hardly believe I deserve. Someone who'll challenge me, who won't ever hold me back, who'll always support me. Someone who I'll love so much truer. And I know there's someone like that out there for you, too, Harry."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I shouldn't have— I shouldn't have said it." He added something else, but his words were muffled by Colin's robes as Colin pulled him into a hug.

"It's going to be alright," Colin said, patting his back. "C'mon. I think we have much better alcohol in the storage room."

Blaise slipped back into the shadows, shaken with both relief and shame that for a moment, he hadn't been able to trust Colin. But not before Harry looked in his direction. Harry startled, eyes wide, but Blaise simply nodded. There wasn't anything he needed to say; Colin had said it all for him.

Three hours later, Colin slipped into Blaise's sleeping pouch, smelling of alcohol and fire-smoke. Blaise was pretty sure he smelled exactly the same. As Colin pressed a tired kiss to Blaise's neck, Blaise hugged him close.

And two hours afterwards, Blaise stood on the edge of the cliffside, staring up at the reds, oranges, and yellows of the sunrise over the ocean. His bare feet were nearly buried by the white sand, while the rest of him was a bit chilled by the early May weather. He'd barely slept that night, whatever time not spent at the party disturbed by the way Granger rambled in her sleep and the way all the Weasleys seemed to snore.

He was tired and strangely energized by the thought of this beautiful sunset opening its rays on a new day. On a new year since the last remnants of the Dark Lord's occupation had vanished.

He didn't know how long he stood there until Colin found him, though he noticed the sun had already made its way higher into the sky.

"I was beginning to worry," Colin said, wrapping a blanket around him. "You're cold. And swaying a bit. It's really not the best thing to do when you're so close to the edge of a cliff."

Blaise leaned into him, and glanced over to see that Colin's eyes bore the same dark circles that Blaise's undoubtedly had.

"I heard your conversation with Potter last night," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stuck around."

"It's alright. He's pretty sneaky, too—I think this can be revenge for all those times either he, Hermione, or Ron were 'just around the corner' for a bit too long."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Colin shrugged. "I'm still upset. Not that much, but… Our friendship is worth a lot more than a drunken hookup proposal. I think he deserves at least a month of pranking."

"I still have some Peruvian darkness powder," Blaise offered.

"It'll come in handy." They stared out into the water for a while, until Colin asked, "Do _you_ want to talk about it?"

 _There's something else I've been wanting to say for ages,_ he almost said, but he didn't really want Potter's ghost in the midst of this conversation, too.

But… wasn't it Potter who had started it all in the first place? Potter, who had pushed Colin aside and into Blaise's way. Potter, who had chosen someone else. Potter, who neither of them truly loved. Potter, who was a catalyst of so much change.

Potter, who didn't really matter in the end, because of how much their love eclipsed all others.  

Maybe this wasn't the best time. (It definitely wasn't the best time, a less sleep-deprived part of his brain cried out.) But he'd been carrying this ring through peaceful dinners and sleepy mornings, through times he definitely should've just said it and times he shouldn't have, through sickness and health, through meetings with Potter and Colin's parents and the minister of magic, through life in a tent, a flat, and a manor house, and if a best time hadn't come, he might as well take any time he had.

Because he didn't need this ring to make them happy, to bind them together, or to distract them.

He didn't need it at all. He simply wanted it, and he knew Colin wanted it, too.

"I'd rather talk about something else," Blaise said, and stepped away from Colin. He turned around in two steps, and stepped forward just to bend down on one knee.

Colin's hands flew to his mouth, but they didn't cover the shock and happiness in his eyes.

Blaise brought out the same ring he'd taken out of his vault so long ago, the same one he'd turned in his hands over and over again on wistful days and sleepless nights. And Blaise didn't even have to think about it, didn't run what he wanted to say through his head for the millionth time, when he said, "I've been carrying this ring around for almost four years. I've loved you on every one of those days, and loved you more as each day passed. And… There's still so much more I could say, but I'm sure I've said it all at some point. So I'll just ask this: Colin, will you marry me?"

From the way Colin immediately said, "Yes!" he didn't have to think about it, either.

 

_\+ One_

 

"Oh god, marry me," Blaise moaned, taking a bite out of their wedding cake. It was perfect. Not as perfect as his newly wedded husband, nothing ever would be, but Blaise was pretty sure he could see himself eating this cake every day for the next decade.

"Sorry, too late," Colin replied. He wiped a little smudge of frosting from Blaise's nose, and Blaise's eyes smoldered as he wrapped his lips around Colin's finger.

It almost lead to another kiss—their sixth since the one at the altar—but Pansy interrupted them with a groan of, "Ugh you're such dorks."

"Mm. We're terrible," Colin agreed.

"The worst."

"I don't think we can subject anyone else to our dorkiness any longer."

"You're right. It would be cruel."

As Pansy rolled her eyes, they vanished from the ballroom, off to begin an even better celebration.

 

_(+ Two_

"Where'd Harry go? I haven't seen him since his and Draco's joint best men's speech," Hermione asked, looking around.

"Oh, he's around," Pansy replied, smirking gleefully. "Snogging Draco in a dark alcove."

"You mean they finally…?"

"Yup."

"Thank god. The tension was driving me insane.")

 

 

(+ _Three, six months later_

"Harry Viktor Zabini," Colin said, looking up from a book of baby names. He smirked when the hand idly rubbing his stomach stilled, and looked down at the still very small bump on his stomach. (It was ridiculous, how much joy it brought him, to have these peaceful evenings with Blaise, lying in bed together as they read, matching rings on their hands and a beautiful little boy who would be here soon enough. But peace didn't stop Colin from teasing Blaise, just a little, just to keep him on his toes.) "You were named for your daddies' first crushes—the actual ones, not the fake one—and have great genes, if I say so myself," he said to the little bump, "so you'll definitely grow up hot."

"Oh Merlin, stop," Blaise moaned, his face a lovely mix of shock and horror. He covered his eyes as though it would do anything to help (although it did hide Colin's quickly spreading smile). "I will not join the masses of people naming their kids Harry. Please don't ask for that."

"And if I did?"

Blaise swallowed. "We'd have to go with Hadrian, at least. Herakles. Haise."

When he uncovered his eyes once more, Colin's expression was unbearably sweet. "Sometimes, I wonder how I ever managed to marry the most amazing person in the world."

"It's all Potter's fault," Blaise replied, and pressed a short kiss to Colin's lips. "But that doesn't mean we have to name our child after him."

"You're right. Neville is a much better sounding name—"

Blaise cut him off with a much more thorough kiss, and Colin laughed as their baby names were quickly forgotten.)


End file.
